


Whatever a Sun Will Always Sing is You

by AngelicSentinel



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical language, Canonical Character Death, Earthborn (Mass Effect), F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Mass Effect Flash Big Bang 2014, Past Gang Violence, Slight reference to implied Past Torture, Spoilers for all Games and DLC, War Hero (Mass Effect)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-09 19:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1994481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelicSentinel/pseuds/AngelicSentinel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garrus is having blackouts. Dreams of a dark landscape. It’s not easy when you add that to trying to save a galaxy. Only sometimes, he remembers he’s done it all before. </p><p>Written for the Mass Effect Flash Big Bang 2014. Art by Picchar</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Acid Rain

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
>  **Angelic Sentinel:** I had so much fun working with Picchar who was so sweet and kind and patient with me as I sent my drafts over that way. This is my first big bang, my first work in the Mass Effect fandom longer than a one-shot, and it's been such a pleasure as I've met so many creative and engaging people through the course of this. Huge thanks to Picchar for the gorgeous artwork that depicts the heart of what I was trying to convey so perfectly! Thanks also to my betas R and J for sticking with me and working on it even though you're not in fandom, and to AzzyDarling and BioticBooty for taking time to do this.
> 
>  **Picchar:** I'm not very good with words, which is why I stick to drawing for big bangs, but I will say that I had a lot of fun reading—as well as illustrating for—this fic. I love how Angelic Sentinel evoked the feeling of vagueness, of haziness, that you would feel if you were in Garrus' place, and enjoyed reading every iteration and draft of the fic. I hope you'll like it as much as I do!
> 
> Title taken from e.e. cummings' "[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]"

_Help us._

She doesn’t look back.

“Shepard!” Garrus calls out into the darkness. He runs and the strange landscape blocks him. Tall trees, different from the ones on Palaven, move in closer, hiding her, dead grass and leaves littering the ground.

_You know it’s the right choice._

He changes direction. Alien trees pass by him at a rapid pace. She shines; he sees her back in the distance. He sprints faster, reaching out an ungloved hand towards her retreating form.

_Someone else would have gotten it wrong._

Her voice reaches him, a whisper, “Not even the stars can last forever, Garrus.” And she burns brighter than all the stars as she catches fire, the flames going from green to red to vibrant blue.

_Some things are beyond even you._

Then, bright light and pain and darkness and hurtling through space.

_I ask forgiveness._

Then, nothing.

**0.**

Garrus turns from talking with the Executor and his first impression is _sun_. She holds everyone around her in orbit, the two humans following her caught in her blinding gravity. The people in Citadel Tower part for her, some with glances—some that don’t even realize what they’re doing as they step aside. Her presence sings to him, curls inside his mind.

Garrus knows exactly who she is. Commander Shepard, the human Spectre candidate. Tall, especially so for a human female. Definite military bearing. Scar on left side of face and right lip. Dark coloring. Curly textured hair pulled up in a tight bun. Arms tucked to the side. No wasted movement. She blazes through, and he steps in her path and talks about his investigation and the lack of evidence on Saren. Her intense dark eyes meet his, weighing him, judging him.

He watches her go, not able to shake off the feeling he’d barely avoided getting burned.

He leaves the tower, frustrated. Soon, one of his contacts sends him a tip on a quarian that may have information, and he goes to track her down.

Someone’s beaten him there. He hears the sound of thugs and a scream, he lifts his pistol and fires on instinct netting the man in the center of the forehead, and he takes a moment to draw a rattling breath as the thrill of combat runs through him.

He sees piercing brown eyes, eyebrows raised almost to the hairline, N7 prominent on the chest. He falters, and his mandibles slacken, and his brow plates lift, and he lowers his pistol as the familiar sounds of chastisement hit him.

For a moment, he’s back with his father on the shooting range, and then his head clears. The thought that Saren could get away with what he’s done burns him more than anything. Then what she’s saying hits him. I don’t trust you, but come anyway. You’ll be in my squad, and I’ll be watching your six so you don’t shoot me in mine.

He smiles; she shrinks back and her hands twitch towards the pistol at her hip. His face falls, and something screams _wrong_ at him, but he shakes it off.

She practically sings, “Let’s pay Fist a visit.” She cracks her neck and rolls her shoulders.

Wrex just grunts.

A buzzing in his ear, blue light playing across his eyes. Garrus blinks. Maybe he’s drunk or maybe he’s dead, but Chora’s Den is a bar, so he laughs as they dive behind a collapsed table. A firefight. They never go anywhere nice. Figures this would be Shepard’s heaven. He switches to his sniper rifle, his aiming quick and precise. Wrex charges forward, massacring the hapless thugs with his shotgun. “You owe me a drink,” he says to Shepard, unthinking.

“What?” she asks. He knows confusion is not a state she enjoys, but he feels the comforting blanket of one-upmanship. It’s how their relationship has always worked, and he’s thrilled it’s survived into this fever dream.

“Well, by my visor, I’m two headshots ahead of you.” He points a talon to her Reaper sniper rifle. “You do know how to use that thing, right?”

Shepard grins, a little forced. _Playacting_ , he thinks. “Betting on drinks, now? You’re on, Officer Vakarian.” And she leaps out of cover, barely waiting for the rifle to cool before three more thugs drop to the ground.

She’s as good as he remembers Shepard being, but something’s not right. It feels too _real_. “Impressive,” he allows, but he barely aims and two more fall. “But you still owe me that drink.” He’s always been the better shot. She switches guns and counters with a pull and then a shotgun blast that kills four more.

“Not bad for someone born on Earth,” Wrex says. “Thought all you humans were weak."

_Wait, what?_   “Earth?” Garrus repeats dumbly as a bullet grazes his arm in the split-second pause he takes before he ducks behind cover. The Shepard he knows is a lifelong spacer, born on Arcturus Station.

“Hey!” Shepard says before tossing a grenade. “Nothing wrong with being earthborn, is there?”

The world tilts.

He slips, scrabbling for purchase in his mind.

_::It will come when it will come::_

He comes to himself as she’s scolding Wrex for shooting Fist, and he can’t recall a single thing since the clinic.

 


	2. Dust Clears

**1.**

 

Concern eats away at him. They have picked up T’Soni and investigated Noveria and are en route to the Citadel to pick up supplies. He hasn’t had another blackout, but it weighs on his mind. He can’t do anything about the lost time at this moment, so he goes to take care of the problem he can handle.

“Commander, I’d like to have a moment of your time.”

“Vakarian, I always make time to listen to my crew’s concerns. But if this is about releasing the rachni, I assure you the turian councilor has already raked me over the coals about it.”

His mandibles flutter in annoyance, and Shepard shoots him an uneasy glance, his visor showing him all the markers of a human in fight-or-flight response. Dilated eyes. Increased heart palpitations. A rising body temperature. But the only sign of her discomfort is the glance. He tilts his head. “That’s not a human expression I remember hearing.”

Now she shifts from foot to foot, crossing her arms. “It means he’s already reprimanded me about it.”

“Ah,” he says. The awkward silence grows, maddening. “Why do you hate turians?”

She swallows, her face otherwise impassive “What makes you say that?” She lowers her arms to the side, her posture deceptively open. Garrus has worked long enough in Citadel Security to know human body language. Tension thrums through her. She hides it well enough, but part of the job was learning the tells of other species.

He ticks them off on his talons, another human gesture. “Well, lastly singling out the turian councilor. Councilor Sparatus is an old shantha, but Tevos and Valern would have things to say. Valern especially, since the salarians uplifted the krogan specifically to fight the rachni.”

“He did,” she allows.

“You were harsh with Qui’in and the mechanic. The few missions you take me out on, I’m on point. Except for Noveria, Liara and I were never on the fire team together, and even then, you took Wrex to Peak 15. You made it clear you didn’t trust her until now, and it stands to reason you wouldn’t put two squadmates you didn’t trust together. You’re good, but not that good. You wouldn’t give two potential enemies even the slightest chance to overpower you. So something she said changed your mind about her, but you still don’t know about me,” he says.

“You’re not wrong,” she says, crossing her arms again.

“Shepard,” he says, using her name for the first time. “I was an investigator, a good one, despite the Saren fiasco. For all we get along and work well in combat together, you don’t trust me. Don’t get me wrong. You’re professional enough on the surface. Something tells me it’s not about me. Why?”

He sees her teeth clench, her face flashing anger and annoyance and hurt. “Shanxi,” she grinds out.

“It’s more than that,” he presses.

“My mother was an officer aboard one of the ships guarding the expedition at Shanxi-Theta. She died defending the ship from your unprovoked attack.”

“Oh,” is all he can say.

“My father worked as a teacher.” Shepard’s eyes narrow. “When you began dropping pieces of orbital debris—on a garden world no less and against your own damn laws—your people took out the whole city block where he and the children he taught were hiding. If they hadn’t left me with my grandmother in Atlanta at the time—” She swallows. “Excuse me, Officer Vakarian. I should go.”

No small wonder she hated turians. But something about her dismissal of humanity’s part makes him speak. “There were losses on both sides. It was just a misunderstanding. It was illegal to activate that relay—”

She pivots on her heel and stalks into his personal space, cutting him off. Even though he towers over her, even with all his training, he can’t help but take a step back. “A misunderstanding? A misunderstanding doesn’t kill people. Poor impulse control does. Leaping into a situation before you have all the facts does. And to think your people pride yourselves on being more disciplined than us _reckless_ humans.”

He feels like a ship that flew too close to the sun. She peels layers off him, raw. How many times has his father scolded him for that very same thing? “I see,” he says, chastised. I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t.”

She strides forward, intent on the door. He has to stop her, to make her see. “Just give me a chance! I want to take down Saren as much as you do. You can’t judge an entire people for the action of a few.”

She stops. “You’re right.” she says softly without looking back. “Prepare to be part of the landing party on our next mission. One chance, Vakarian.” And the door shuts behind her.

They dock at the Citadel. As he steps out of the airlock, his vision turns blue again. An admiral immediately blindsides Shepard with a surprise inspection and she lets him view the ship, arguing passionately about different aliens learning to work together. He’s a little surprised. That happened differently last time. She didn’t let him tour the ship. Another change, though not as big as Arcturus.

And there are plenty. She’s colder. Harder than he remembers. Not as forgiving. There are times he hardly believes this is the Commander he knew from before.

And yet, there’s no denying she is who she says she is. Her way of walking, her manner of speaking…It’s all her. He’d know her anywhere.

Even if so many things are different. As they go through C-Sec, that reporter corners her again. He sees her jaw working and the anger shining out of her eyes, but she keeps calm, answers her questions without giving away classified information. Or punching her.

His mind races as he tries to figure out what’s going on. Why is he here? _A hallucination,_ his mind whispers. _A delusion._ _A dream._  But that can’t be right. Did he make to the beam in time? But why are events from two years ago replaying? He’d say it’s memory, but some things are different. Different enough to give him pause.

Did everyone die? Is that why they’re all here?

Was it something here on the Citadel? Should he attempt to search for the Catalyst? In the little time he has, he searches seams. Looks around Citadel Control and Citadel Tower and anywhere else he can think of for anything that could fire the Crucible.

Nothing on his omnitool’s scans. In fact, everything looks like it did before Sovereign’s attack. Eerie. He investigates Chora’s Den a few hours before they’re supposed to meet up since that’s where he appeared the first time, only for a dizzy spell to nearly tip him over. He staggers against the wall, placing a hand over his eyes.

Garrus can’t remember how he got here or what he is supposed to be doing in the first place. He straightens, dusting nonexistent dirt from his armor. His stomach curdles, but he takes a breath and moves on. He stops as he hears Shepard shouting at a human man.

“I don’t care, Finch. I’m not letting him go. I don’t condone genocide. You attack the people responsible. You don’t fuck around with medical supplies or food, Finch. Not even turians. We never did that. Not anything that hurts kids like we were.”

“Well, look at you. All high and mighty Spectre bitch. On your back for the aliens, now. Jay was right about you.”

“Fuck you and fuck the Reds. I don’t owe you anything.”

“Is that really the way you want to handle it, Nightingale? You don’t want us as an enemy. When we post those vids about you killing turians with a smile on your face,” he trails off, smirking. “Got ten people right here who’ll swear up and down it was you.”

“That ain’t my name,” Shepard takes a deep breath. “That is not my name anymore. My past is a matter of public record. It’s funny you would try to blackmail me when you forget what I can do. _Especially_ when it involves killing.” She draws her pistol and looks at it with hooded eyes, her smile a deadly promise. “And I’m a Spectre,” she says in a saccharine tone. ”Look at that. No consequences. I could kill everyone in this bar right now and the Council wouldn’t even bat an eye.” She giggles. “Spectre business.”

“You wouldn’t,” Finch says, but Garrus sees sweat beading down his brow, a sure sign of human nervousness.

Shepard aims her pistol at his forehead. “Try me.”

Finch must see something in her eyes that Garrus doesn’t because he pales and backs away slowly, running as soon as he reaches the door. Garrus has seen the face she wears when she kills. That doesn’t even come close. It’s also the first time he’s ever seen her flaunt her Spectre authority. It’s unlike her.

“You should have shot him,” the Maitrum CO grumbles at her. “What kind of Spectre does that make you?”

She clenches her teeth. “A good one,” she says to the turian, after taking a moment to force her anger down. “I’m not that person anymore. And you’re drinking on duty. I’m not here to do your job for you.” She turns and sees him and her eyes widen. It’s almost endearing, how flustered she is to see him there, if what just happened hadn’t been so serious.

“Vakarian.”

“Commander.”

“How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough.” Enough to know his intuition is right; the Commander Shepard he knows would never participate in hate crimes, much less free a man accused of one. He’s seen Curt Weisman’s rap sheet. He’s been on the run from the turian armed forces since before Garrus left C-Sec. Maitrum with its maximum-security prison and deadly heat is going to be far too kind to him.

“Vakarian, I—“

Garrus holds up his hand. “You don’t owe me an explanation.” And she really doesn’t; her actions speak for themselves. He smiles, and this time she doesn’t jerk back, so he puts his hand on her shoulder, and heads to the bartender to order some _horosk_ , not seeing the bemused look she sends after his back.

After that, he needs the good stuff.

Things start to change. On Feros, she runs ahead with her pistol leaving her back open. It’s a shocking display of trust, the first time she’s ever taken point with him on the team, so he does her a favor and drops the Shock trooper trying to flank her. She grins and throws a sloppy salute in acknowledgement. As they run and gun the geth, he feels something he hasn’t felt in a long time. Not in the military or at C-Sec.

_::Peace::_

With “Bang Bang Boom!” blasting through his visor, he takes out the geth with ruthless proficiency, even while his mind is distracted. They kill the geth and help the colonists and move through the skyway.

He’s not really surprised when she convinces Jeong to turn Feros into a marketing ploy, nor when she leaves the thorian asari alive.

Though she eased up on him personally, she still takes issues with some of the way he handles things. She doesn’t let him shoot Saleon, but she kills him right after as the salarian draws his weapon and attempts to shoot them. “You can’t control people’s choices, but you can control your own.” Red tape’s just a different type of battle, but the rules still apply. She still plays by them even as a Spectre. “Do things the right way, not the fastest.”

It’s frustrating, at first. It takes him a while, but he gets it, and even thinks she sees a little of herself in him. She’s atoning by helping him make better choices. It makes sense. With her history, he wonders sometimes how she can stand to be in the same room as him, how she can be so professional, even as she’s cold.

But like ice, she thaws towards him, little by little.

And then Virmire comes with the sound of thunder and cool rain against his fevered plates.

The whole time Wrex fires his shotgun, Garrus is on edge, blue playing at his vision, a song curling at the edges of his mind. His hand is on his rifle; he watches Ashley place herself in a position to kill, and amazingly, amazingly Shepard talks him down. Wrex puts down his gun before any of them can shoot.

He’s with the ground team this time, with an alive Wrex. He cuts the alarms. She knows the salarians are compromised. She watches as one beats himself to death on the window of his cell. She summarily executes another cell of drooling empty husks.

It’s cold. Cold in a way he’s never seen Shepard be, not towards him, not even towards Finch.

 _Indoctrination_. The word makes him shudder as it plays in his mind. She kills the asari researcher too, and they’re off to Ilos with an explosion that kills Ashley. They manage to save Captain Kirrahe and a few of his men, though.

The Council grounds them, and he makes sure the Mako is in perfect condition. They’re going to need it.

They make it through Ilos alive. He blacks out once—Garrus mines all the data he can from Vigil, saving a local copy using techniques learned from Vendetta, though so many files are corrupted, puzzling him later when he returns to himself.

They go through the Conduit, and battle through the Citadel. And then Saren is gone, and they split ways, though not before she sacrifices Alliance ships to save the Council over his protests and appoints Anderson over Udina.


	3. Narcolepsy

**2.**

 

At the end of a particularly rough day at C-Sec—not the least of which the _Normandy_ is out in space while he has to sit here and do what amounts to nothing, waiting for his Spectre application to come through—his omnitool beeps. He waves it open to find a frantic wave from Tali that Shepard is dead.

He just sits there and thinks back to the galaxy model he had on his omnitool when he was a child—one press of the button and a whole universe bloomed on his ceiling—how he would lay there, playing with the stars, fast forwarding time until the stars went supernova and rewinding time until they reformed again.

Shepard’s star is massive enough to form a black hole.

The Council denies Reaper involvement, blames it on the geth, even after everything they’d done. He quits C-Sec, fed up with it all. He gives them copies of the file he found but nothing comes of it. The Council takes his local copy of Vigil’s data and thanks him for his contribution, but still claims there’s not enough proof pointing to the Reapers and the cycle of extinction. If the universe is joking, it’s a very cruel one.

Garrus goes to her empty casket funeral with the rest of the crew, cold and stoic and stone, and when Wrex asks him to go on a job with him, he readily agrees before hearing the location. When they arrive at Omega, it’s after a flash of blue and he laughs loud and long and Wrex looks at him like he’s crazy. Nothing unusual. Only, Wrex is alive instead of dead on the sands of Virmire, the planet Garrus has come to think of as a tomb, and that makes him laugh harder, in hysteria, in desperation, he doesn’t know.

But Wrex understands, in his way. They get as close as a turian and a krogan who’ve saved the galaxy can be. He wouldn’t call them friends exactly. Wrex is old and wise and shrewd, and he’s been around. Wrex leaves when the job is done, but Garrus doesn’t. He never truly left Omega, just as Omega never truly left him.

And while he finds a team he dreams of trees and exploding stars and reaching out into the darkness. It’s the only dream he ever has anymore.

 _What’s real_? He asks himself at the end of the beginning. He can’t tell; the future he remembers, or the present in the past. He flickers back and forth, and he’s not sure if it’s the stims or what, but that damn blue code runs across his eyes constantly.

What use is this, _is he_ if he can’t even save his team? He closes his eyes, and his vision fills with the newly dead. His people deserved so much more. He opens his eyes and picks several of them off. Even so, it’s not enough. They keep coming, inexorable.

He’s dreaming. He must be. It all blurs, and only instinct keeps him alive. Why give him a second chance if this is what comes of it? 

A song plays in his head. It curls around his mind and burrows in his skull and vibrates with intensity. It sounds majestic, like the space between the stars, the arms of the galaxy reaching out to cradle him.

Shepard’s N7 emblem shining through his scope gives him hope. She’s moving too slowly—he hears a tech expert at the door, so he fires a concussive round at her that knocks her shoulder back a step. She takes that as a signal to gun down the freelancers ruthlessly.

As she approaches, the song grows louder.

Huh. He doesn’t recognize her squad members. A cloaked human woman and a grizzled old man in yellow-orange. He’s stopped noting the differences, but this is another big one. No Miranda or Jacob. He wonders what caused the change **.** A quick jerk of his trigger, and a merc’s head explodes behind the barrier.

She’s tentative when she approaches him, but he takes off his helmet and her loud, “Garrus!” surprises him. Her arms go out and she almost looks like she’s going to hug him. Not Vakarian. Garrus. Huh. 

The song dulls to a low hum.

“Hey Shepard,” he says, exhaustion lacing his voice. Her wide smile falters a bit and she looks at him, really looks at him for the first time since coming back. Concern isn’t a look he’s used to seeing on her, especially when it’s geared towards him. It softens her face too much.

Her words wash together, and later he can’t remember what was said. Too many stims and too much grief. He remembers her leaving the old merc to cover him. 

And then he still gets hit by the damn gunship.

He slips into unconsciousness with a comforting pulse of blue.

Hours later, he’s out of surgery and walking to the briefing room. He doesn’t pay attention to the lost time, the blurred memories that make no sense. Shepard’s here, looking more worn than he’s ever seen her. He can’t stand to see her looking like this. Especially not over him. “How bad is it? No one would tell me,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

He doesn’t think of his team. Of the bodies he’d laid out carefully behind him. Of the hiss of medigel applied far too late and the mix of multi-colored blood. Of holding the last pieces of someone together, the pressure of his hand the only thing staunching the blood. He blinks hard against his memories, forcing them away.

“Hell, Garrus, you were always ugly. Slap some face paint on there and no one will notice.”

“Really,” the line leaves his mouth before he can catch it. “I heard women like scars. Mind you, most of those women were krogan.” He laughs, hurting his face. “You remember those sick experiments, right?”

“How could I forget? Garrus, I don’t trust Cerberus,” she says tiredly, running her fingers through her messy black hair, wet with sweat and blood. “If I’m walking into hell, it’s good to have someone I trust at my side.”

“You realize this plan has me walking into hell, too.” Her scars on her face match his wounds, an eerie orange glow. “Just like old times.” He doesn’t say it, but her casual use of the word trust shocks him to his very core. He wobbles on his feet but manages to stay standing by focusing on the pain.

It beats a rhythm in his skull.

“I didn’t want to say it before, but I’m sorry.”

“ _The_ Commander Shepard? Apologizing? Now I know the world has ended,” he deflects.

She punches him in the arm, doing more damage to her hand than his armor. “I mean it, you ass. You were right.”

He wants to tease her further, maybe joke about recording it for posterity, but the look in her face makes him stop, and he sobers quickly. “About what?”

“Turians. Or at least you. I saw Tali, and she hardly spoke to me, but you, you didn’t even doubt I was who I said I was.”

“Well, it takes a certain kind of person to go against these kind of odds,” he says, doing an imitation of a shrug.

She doesn’t buy his nonchalance. “Even when you thought I hated you, and I was pretty damn close, you still trusted me, even when I made questionable decisions.”

“You’re Shepard,” he says, as if that explains everything.

Maybe it does.

“I very nearly let a man go, who’d poisoned a medical shipment bound for a turian colony.”

He gazes into her eyes, face impassive. “But you didn’t,” he says. The air is thick and heavy, and whatever’s weighing it, he can’t stand. He leaves her standing there watching him, her brow furrowed and her lips pursed.

They stop by Purgatory and Korlus before heading back to Omega to pick up the Professor. Oddly enough, she takes Grunt with them into the plague zone. Code cascades around his visor. Shepard left him behind last time. Garrus volunteers again and Grunt won’t let himself be outdone by a turian.

Both of them are coughing after the first few firefights, and he feels his fever build, the stagnant air of the station doing little to cool him off. He powers through the ache, but he senses more than sees Shepard’s constant gaze on him. He glances back once, at the deep lines across her forehead. Fevered thoughts pulse through his mind and sometimes he’s here, sometimes he’s back on that run to the beam, the Mako pulverizing his shields and burning his armor. He blinks, and they’re at Mordin’s clinic and he can breathe again, with only the vaguest notion of how he got there. Bits and pieces flashes through his mind, but nothing solid.

Horizon approaches with a bang and the sound of swarms and the scream of husks. Soon, they’re at the end. Kaidan embraces Shepard too long to be friendly, and Garrus finally has some idea of what a few aside comments from the crew meant. Kaidan’s no better than Ashley was at believing Shepard, and Garrus has had enough. “You’re so focused on Cerberus you’re ignoring the real threat!”

Kaidan blusters and Jack rolls her eyes, crosses her arms against her chest and Shepard can’t get him to listen no matter how hard she pleads. A hot feeling starts in his chest and spreads throughout his body. Shepard shouldn’t have to beg. Kaidan is too smart to believe Soverign’s geth technology, and they’d all lost Shepard. Hell, he’d lost Shepard twice, and Cerberus did not give him a guarantee that she’d awaken this time. _This time?_ he catches himself thinking. _What’s that supposed to mean?_

Time blurs; they pick up Thane and Samara and Tali and get the data from the Collector ship.

Haestrom’s something else. Thane’s not Wrex. He’s effortless precision, but he lacks force. Each shot counts. They’re running and gunning against the geth, and it’s just like old times. The sun burns as Shepard maintains her barrier and charges headlong into the geth with her shotgun.

Oddly, he misses Ashley and her ruthless proficiency with an assault rifle even Grunt can’t top, sees her running alongside him in blue armor ( _when did she wear that again_?) instead of her pink Phoenix—

They do everyone’s unfinished business. Miranda’s and Mordin’s are rough, but it’s after Jacob’s that Shepard comes back to the ship with shadows in her eyes and a black mood that lasts for weeks. She stranded Jacob’s father with nothing but the anger of those he hurt, and it shows in the way she avoids everyone, even him.

Jack’s is much the same, though her anger builds enough for them to spar together at his suggestion, hard and furious and painful. She’s soft but not fragile, and she gives as good as she gets. 

The night after, they sit and talk about it. “That could have been me,” she confides in him, using her biotics to lift and rotate a set of rubber balls with precision uncharacteristic of a Vanguard. “I was a no name street kid that got eezo in the womb and secondary exposure on the last smuggling run I ever did for the Reds. No one would have missed me.”

Garrus isn’t so sure. Protostars acquired mass from everything around them. Shepard would have always been the nebula that formed a supergiant. Even death hadn’t dimmed her luminosity. Someone would have missed her. Shepard has a way of pulling everyone she meets to her, and he can’t imagine it being any different when she was younger.

Grunt’s is nothing unusual. He can’t remember how many thresher maws they’ve killed on foot, though the time limit imposed by the maw hammer is something new. But a turian being part of a krogan’s krantt—now that’s something.

Sometimes it feels a little unreal to him, having major connections with nearly every homeworld in the galaxy, especially since Wrex has become leader of the Urdnot clan.

When they get to his, Garrus fights with himself every step of the hunt for Fade and Sidonis. Shepard makes her concern known, and she argues with him. His anger is tightly controlled, but she still sees a side of him he’s shown to few. He’s angry—angry about his squad and the deaths of ten good people. Angry that people like Harkin can abuse others and get away with it. Get away with helping people like Sidonis.

In the skycar, Shepard finally turns to him. “Garrus, this isn’t like you.”

“He owes me ten lives, Shepard. What you do if someone betrayed you?”

“I wouldn’t let it change me. Because if I did, I wouldn’t do it from a distance. I’d hunt him down, get in close. I’d tie him up, make it slow. Small cuts at first. Acid. Electricity. Broken bones. Block all the exits and burn the house down during the funeral with his friends and family inside. Watch until it’s all ash.”

He looks at her. She’s staring ahead, eyes unblinking. “Shepard?” he asks, uneasy.

“Don’t let it change you, Garrus. Don’t spend the rest of your life wondering which one of you’s the bigger monster.”

When Shepard blocks his shot, for a moment, he contemplates pressing the trigger anyway in a surge of hot anger. They’re so close together it would get them both. Then he catches the thought, shoves it down, sick. Horror, guilt, and shame pour down him like cold water.

He falls into darkness. His mind howls. Blue static drowns out everything, makes it seem unreal, and at the end, he doesn’t take the shot. It’s crueler to leave Sidonis alive. He’s punishing himself enough.

“It’s so much easier to see the world in black and white. I don’t know what to do with grey.”

“You paint it, Garrus. Until the world’s filled with vibrant color.”

But blue bleeds out into black and white and grey no matter what he does.

_“Garrus, I swear I’ll make it up to you,” Sidonis says._

_::Is that it?::_

_Too little, too late_

_Ten cold graves._

He spends a few days thinking about Sidonis and Shepard and choices and differences. Shepard’s kept her distance. He’s not angry at her, not anymore. Instead, he’s a little concerned. She’s been withdrawn and hasn’t gone on her usual rounds. She doesn’t talk much about her past, and after what little she’s told him he can see why.

It takes a sufficient inward force of gravity to exceed the outward pressure of space to form a star.

Little by little, it returns to normal. Mostly. The blackouts still happen. Garrus wonders sometimes if he’s going crazy. Sometimes he has thoughts and dreams that he swears aren’t his. Omega and the Reapers and firefight after firefight start to show their wear on him. Hell, at this point, he doesn’t know how he’s functioning as a competent soldier at all, but he grits his teeth, and makes it through one day at a time, one mission at a time. He manages to survive somehow.

He doesn’t have much down time to contemplate it; Shepard takes him on almost every mission.

And the ones she doesn’t take him on **—** A low chirrup escapes him as Shepard walks out of the Observation Deck in an outfit unlike any he’s ever seen her in before while he’s eating in the mess. He didn’t know a human’s waist could look that tapered. He’s not the only one looking either. Plenty of the men look, and Yeoman Chambers definitely does not hide her appreciative gaze. His visor pinpoints a slight temperature anomaly in the air next to Shepard, and he laughs. Kasumi. Still hiding from Burt Davis.

Then they’re through Thane and Samara’s and Tali’s personal business. Fathers and daughters and sons. He closes his eyes and tries not to think of his own; his ailing mother, his distant father, and the sister he can’t bear to burden.

While his calculations are running, he stares at the dim light of the back wall and tries not to think. Forget desperate battles to the death; it’s the down time he fears.

Tali makes it easier. She’s a friendly ear and conversation in the mess and something of the old _Normandy_ letting him know this isn’t a dream. After they pick her up, she’s someone who spends a lot of time with him and Shepard out in the field.

Thane, too, has a cool head on his shoulders, and wisdom earned through hard experience. They talk about sniping, and rifle mods, and it’s camaraderie he wouldn’t have expected.

They help, a little.

In Zaeed’s, he sees what he could have been in twenty years, and it’s a sobering thought. He feels something like satisfaction as Shepard lectures the old merc while they save the refinery. It’s not just Garrus’s motivations Shepard has issues with. His parallels, her parallels—it’s eerie. Both a past and a present marked by fire. How much will the future be? And he lets go of the last bit of resentment he has towards her. 

Not too long after that, they’re sitting and laughing in the main battery. And just for a moment, he forgets and slips into nostalgia and waxes poetic about the scout. High-risk missions don’t change, after all, and it has been a _long_ time since he’s blown off steam. And Shepard is his best friend, probably his only friend left after everything. He doesn’t think about implications or who he’s saying it to. They’d had a rough beginning, but she’d listened, and she’s still listening, and he’s never had that before.

He’s never had someone that just listened.

And then the conversation veers in a completely unexpected direction. “We could test your reach,” Shepard says, voice low and heart rate elevated through his visor, “And my flexibility.”

Surely she’s not implying what he thinks she’s implying. “I didn’t know you wanted to spar, Commander,” he says after a short pause.

She saunters up to him, invading his personal space, putting her hand on her hip and leaning all of her weight to one foot, which does funny things to her waist, even in Cerberus regulation. He swallows. “I was thinking more of skipping right to the tiebreaker.” The moment hangs between them awkwardly. Long. Perhaps too long.

He’s thrown. Floored, actually. He struggles to gather his thoughts and make sense of them. It’s Shepard. Things have changed, she’s changed, but she’s still the same Shepard he always knew. Still vibrant and bright and the guiding star in his life.

Part of him is confused. She hated turians. But people change. Ever since she woke up, ever since Cerberus brought her back to life, he’s been her confidante and her friend. She’s opened up to him in ways no one else ever has.

And hadn’t he thought nearly the same things about krogan? Just because they’d fought with the turians? If he were human, he might think the same. But she’s risen above it.

He’s taken too long. He sees her face fall, and she begins to turn, but before she can leave, he blurts out before he can catch it, “If we can find a way to make it work, then why the hell not?”

And why the hell not? A human wouldn’t be his go-to choice for a partner, but it’s _Shepard_. He reaches out to her and pulls her close to him, running his talons down her back, marveling at the flat shape. She melts and folds into him, and he puts his chin on her hair. He hears her take a shuddering breath, and she tucks her arms around his waist, and she can’t know what that means to turians.

So he asks, “You sure you don’t want something closer to home?” as she buries her head in his shoulder.

She pulls away to look up to him. “I want someone I can trust. I want you. But if it makes you uncomfortable, if I came on too strong—” She looks away. That word again. _Trust_. Garrus runs a curled talon down the side of her jaw and returns her gaze to his.

“You make me nervous sometimes.” Garrus admits. “But never uncomfortable.” And they sit like that for a while, enjoying the silence between them, the hum of the ship. When he goes to move his shoulder because it’s stiff, he finds her eyes closed, her head leaned over in a position that looks uncomfortable even for humans.

She’s running herself to exhaustion. He lays her down on his cot and goes back to calibrating, but not before covering her with his thin blanket.

They help Liara become the Shadow Broker, retrieve the IFF, help Legion while the crew’s abducted by the collectors. Soon, it’s nearly time for the mission. It’s do or die, and if he’s going to die, he’d rather do it knowing where he stands with Shepard.

He’s shaking as he presses the button on the elevator and runs a talon around the too-tight collar of his cheap suit as he enters her cabin.

She’s waiting for him in a blue dress he’s never seen before, the color of so many skies. It complements her umber skin perfectly, showing off her neck and the hard lines of her shoulders.

He stutters, fumbles through words he’s spent hours trying to put together, lost. She doesn’t let him, turns off the music and pulls off his gloves, tracing the palm of his hand with her fingers before moving to the sensitive skin where talons meet flesh.

She puts her other hand on his face, careful of the bandages, and pulls him down for a human kiss. Her full soft lips press against his skin, against the edges of his mouth. He responds as best as he can.

He doesn’t like it when she pulls away, chewing on her lip and eyes wide, but it tells him this is more than stress relief and something in him gives way. Past or present, Shepard’s been the most important friend he’s ever had. “I want something to go right. Just this once,” he murmurs.

To forget the galaxy is falling to pieces around him. To forget the Reapers and the collectors and his failure as a brother and a son. To forget that even though his mother might have a chance, his conversations with Solana and his father show the massive distance that’s grown between him and his family. To forget just for a little while.

“Garrus,” she breathes.

He doesn’t know if she knows what it means, but he places his forehead against hers. She holds it for a long moment. Then she smiles at him, and it’s the surface of the sun. He’s burning, taking in her heat wherever they touch. He rubs the undamaged side of his face against her skin, flaring his mandible against hers.

She takes his hand and guides him to the bed. And it’s awkward, but less awkward than he fears. Mostly a lot of “not there’s” and “oh, that’s good” and “am I doing this right?” Fact is, they’re a team. Always have been. And it _works_.

And they’re laying together, her soft human skin oddly cool against his plates. She’s snuggled up to his side in her human way, and his talons rub circles on her shoulder. He looks down on her, smiling while she sleeps. He can see the slightest shade of orange from the cybernetics shining under her dark skin. And he slips in to something like sleep.

 _This_. If Garrus closes his eyes, he can recall the scattered moment with perfect clarity. It’s an infinitely precious gift, this second chance, what he has of it, and he’s not going to waste a moment of his time with Shepard.

His omnitool beeps a fifteen-minute warning and he wakes with a groan. Shepard shifts beside him. “Garrus?” she opens her eyes, blinking slowly.

“Time to go rid the galaxy of some collectors.”

“No rest for the wicked,” she sighs, getting up. “Or peace for the weary.” And for the third time in this new life, he sees her façade start to crack. “I don’t know if we can do this.”

“We can,” he says with certainty. Of course they can do this. So he presses his mouth to hers and places his forehead on hers, and they suit up.

The entire team’s tense in the briefing room. Shepard herself stalks back and forth. He taps her on the shoulder and sends her a pointed look before casting a glance at the other people in the room. She nods.

She forces herself to take a deep breath, rolling back her shoulders. She shakes off the tension. When she speaks, it’s with confidence. She gives them their roles, makes him a leader of one of the fire teams.

After everything, after her words of trust and keeping him at her six and the time they’d spent in her cabin earlier, this is what finally gets him. She’s confident enough in him to let him lead. She trusts him enough with her team. He’s not sure he’d trust himself that much, not after Omega.

But if she believes he can do this, then so can he. It’s the first time in a long time he fights without her at his side, but they work beautifully. Moving in synchronized orbit, his visor highlighting entrances and exits and enemies on the HUD.

And then they’re through the doors.

Even as he takes a shot to the waist, it barely clips him and he survives. The thing at the end is monstrous, but they take it down and blow the base with heavy ordinance. Fighting the whole of the collectors at their base, against impossible numbers and long odds, she brings them all home. A suicide mission—but one they survive thanks to Shepard.

And then she gets _the call._ The one from Hackett about a missing doctor, phrased just so that he knows she’ll go. Long days waiting in the belly of the _Normandy_ as her infiltration and extraction mission goes days past parameters. He knows she can take care of herself, but it’s the unknown.

And then she appears on the Crew Deck in scuffed armor, blood matting her thick, coiled hair that has long since escaped her tight bun. “They’re coming. Garrus. No time left,” her voice hoarse, pained.

All he can do is hold her as she staggers against him. He places his head against hers, mindful of her head injury, and he murmurs soft nonsense to her as he guides her to Doc Chakwas, making sure to note the bullet hole in her leg. 

As he watches the Doc fix her up, he hears a voice in his ear, so quiet it hardly registers.

:: _Ashes to ashes—we all fall down::_


	4. Bent

**3.**

 

 

Leaving the _Normandy’s_ the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. Harder than leaving home as a gangly turian of fifteen. Harder than trying to find evidence of Saren’s wrongdoing. Harder than knowing his mother’s wasting away and he can’t do anything about it. Sometimes there are things more important than a single life, and the Reapers outweigh his personal struggles by far.

But his trials are just beginning. Shepard’s headed to Earth to rally support from the Alliance and the disjointed Earth countries, but she has further to go than he does. Compared to Earth, Cerberus means little out here in the Trebia system. Just another human threat, one of many. One to watch, certainly, but they hardly keep eyes on every turian, even those reasonably placed within the hierarchy.

A double-sided blade. Now he’s got to convince them to do something about the Reapers. Something that’ll give his people the chance they need to survive. He’s seen them up close. He’s seen what they did with the collectors, Prothean husks.

And the massive galaxy ending fleet is heading straight towards them. A few months are all they have left. The thought drives him back to Palaven, to the heart of Cipritine, back to a home he hasn’t seen since mandatory enlistment.

Walking through the spaceport, he takes a deep breath, leans against the wall, and tries to figure out where to begin. They’ll need troops. Bases to fall back on. Emergency stockpiles. Contingency upon contingency plan. Nothing in history, not even the war against the rachni or the krogan has prepared them for this. How do you fight against such overwhelming force?

But first, they’ll need to listen. The thought drives him to the Forum where he begins the long process of arranging for a meeting with the Palaven Primarch. He organizes the data retrieved from Vigil, takes stock of the footage and files he has of Sovereign and Harbinger on his visor and omnitool and parses it into something manageable. He was an investigator in a turian built force. He knows how it works. And for something this important, even with the short time he has, it’s better to do things the right way if he’s going to have even the smallest chance in hell of making them listen to him.

It’s as he’s leaving after another day of noise and pointless arguing he runs into his father. He walks past him at first. It’s only as he gets halfway down the hall he hears his name. “Garrus?” he hears a voice, subvocals thrumming with incredulity. He turns halfway back and sees similar colony markings, the dulling plates of an older turian. Garrus is surprised to see he stands a bit taller than he does now, unlike when he first went into C-Sec. He tenses up as his father comes to him.

“Garrus. I’d heard you’d returned to Palaven.”

“Dad,” he says, still not turning fully.

“You never did comm me back after target practice.”

“I know. Been busy, I guess.”

“Too busy for a vid call?”

Garrus doesn’t know what to say to him. Not even a minute into the conversation and he’s still as critical as ever. “Yeah.”

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” Garrus turns fully. Gratification surges through him as his father’s mandibles flare in shock when he sees Garrus’s face.

“Sir?” he asks, deliberately light-toned.

“ _Spirits_ , Garrus, what happened to you?”

“Gunship,” Garrus says wryly. “I survived. What are you doing here?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You know Fedorian and I are old friends. I’ve been looking for you. And wondering why you haven’t let me know you were in the city.” The shock hasn’t left his father’s face, and there’s something a little like hurt in his undertones. But Garrus can’t be hearing that right.

“I’ve been busy,” Garrus says, subvocals thrumming with tension.

“Are you busy now?”

Garrus runs through a list of things he needs to do in his head, and settles on the one thing he can say to the man that raised him. “No. I was just leaving, actually.”

“Good. We can go grab something to eat and head home.”

“Is Solana there?” Garrus has to ask. He can’t face her just yet. Not after that last conversation before the Omega-4 relay.

“No, she’s with your mother at Helios. Why?”

“I’ve just got a few souvenirs for her. From the Citadel. And Illium.”

“Illium? What were you doing there?”

“It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got time.”

“Let’s just say it involves an asari Justicar and a drell assassin and leave it at that.”

“Must be some story.” He feels the weight of his father’s gaze on him in the skycar. His father doesn’t say anything else, and he doesn’t offer to speak either. The awkward silence grows as they sit through dinner, speaking of non-committal things like the weather. He’s not sure if his father’s just giving him space or waiting for him to make the first move, but as they touch down outside his father’s home he says, “Dad, we need to talk.”

“I know, son. It’s been a long time in coming.”

“Yeah.” He glances out of the window at the setting sun. He feels like a child again. He follows his father into his office. Datapads and paper line the walls, organized into efficient stacks.

“I’ve got contacts at C-Sec that claim you were serving on a Cerberus ship. A human terrorist group.”

He stares his father in the eye and stands at attention. “I wasn’t serving on a Cerberus ship. I was serving under Commander Shepard. The Council upheld her Spectre status.” _Mostly because of Anderson. I wonder how many favors that took?_

_::Plenty::_

“Even though she was AWOL for two years. And you dodged the question. Is that where you got the money to send your mother offworld to that salarian center? I wasn’t aware you had contacts in the STG.”

“There’s a lot of things about me you’re not aware of,” Garrus snaps, but then he takes a deep breath and a step back. “I’m surprised you know as much as you do,” his tone still bitter. ‘ _That you care’_ goes unsaid.

His father just stares at him. Hard. “Garrus, I was C-Sec for a long time. That doesn’t go away. First that madness with the Battle of the Citadel and now this. I can understand being frustrated with C-Sec.” Garrus tries hard not to scoff. “I can even understand following that human Spectre. But you joined an anti-alien group.”

“I did. Along with a krogan. A salarian. A quarian. The same drell and asari I mentioned earlier. You don’t have to like my choices, but I ask that you respect them.”

“Garrus, just tell me why. I want to hear your reasons. There’s so much hearsay. I want to know the truth.”

“You probably won’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

So Garrus does. He lays out his arguments and his evidence as carefully as he does before the Forum. He starts with his frustration about the Saren investigation, from meeting Shepard to the suicide mission and everything in between, even the things he left out of his meetings with the Primarch’s advisers. He leaves almost nothing out. He tells him about Saelon, Omega, Sidonis, Harkin, all of it.

Everything but what Shepard is to him.

At the end of it all, his father has only one thing to say: “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Would you have believed it? What was I supposed to say? Sorry, but I’m on a suicide mission to try to save the galaxy? Both of you had enough with mom without me making things worse.”

“But a suicide mission?”

“It’s only going to get worse. And the way we are now, the force that’s coming…If we don’t prepare, if we don’t do something now—we won’t survive it.”

“Then we have work to do.”

Garrus can’t believe it. His father is actually listening to him. He actually believes him. He spreads the word, rallies support through his connections, and finally something gets done. Sure, there are not enough people or supplies, but he’s the head of a committee tasked with protecting Palaven from the reaper threat.

It’s a token name and a token job, but at least it’s something. Maybe he was on to something about the universe and cruel jokes.

Then the whisper spreads that he’s building a house in an Invictus jungle with the Reaper Task force—it seems like a good idea only to the person that thought of it. His team’s only slightly larger than the one on Omega. After all, the Reapers have been a mostly human problem so far. The husks are transformed humans. Colonists no one remembers. He’s heard it said to the humans all the time from more “experienced” races in the galaxy. The Attican Traverse is dangerous. The Terminus Systems are dangerous.

But they can’t roll over and die. He’s never considered himself a good turian, but maybe that’s just what his people need right now. The Reapers are an unconventional enemy.

Months pass in the blink of an eye and the blur of code on his visor as he does as much as he can to prepare Palaven for the gauntlet. And then they come. Three million dead the first day. Five million dead the next. And turian Reapers, abominations with familiar clan markings and dead eyes. And his dreams get worse.

“Shepard!” Garrus calls out. She’s running away from him again, heading towards something he can’t see.

Words echo around him, but he can’t make out the whispers.

She’s reaching out too, towards a little human boy, but flames envelop him and nearly reach her too. “Shepard!”

This time she turns around, eyes wide. “Garrus! What—” But before they touch, he wakes up.

Recalling it unsettles him as he patrols the perimeter on Menae. And that’s something. Washed-out C-Sec officer, failed vigilante, their “expert Reaper advisor.” Some expert. Generals are asking him what to do, and he has no idea what to say. He’s not Shepard, and it’s a miracle they’ve even gotten this far. A miracle and her expert leadership.

He has no idea what to tell all the turians looking for his direction. Khar’san’s fallen and there’s been no word from Thessia or Sur’Kesh or _Spirits_ , Earth, not since the comms have gone dark. Palaven burns below him and the days blur together with the stars shining over Menae. At night, when he rests his head against the barricade and tries to sleep over the sound of gunfire and heavy artillery, he thinks it would be enough if— _if I could just see her one last time_.

And then Shepard arrives, wanting the Primarch. It feels good to have her at his side again, he thinks as he places his hands on hers. “I’m hard to kill. You should know that.” Relief on her familiar alien face, tension gone. They finish the mission and after debriefing, the first thing she does is come and see him.

And the tension inside of him, the part of him that never thinks he’ll be good enough, that knows he’s a disappointment, disappears after her strangely smooth hand touches his scarred face. They joke, and their relationship falls back to banter and familiarity, and it leaves entirely. Her sun shines so bright not even shadows of it remain.

It’s as he’s recalibrating the Thanix cannon code flares across his visor and his vision again. He shakes his head and wonders when the last time he took it off was. He can’t remember, so he takes it off then and cradles the fragile piece of technology in his hand. He turns it over in his hands, running the side of his talon over the names of those lost to Omega. 

And for a moment, uneasiness builds. It’s been having problems with showing code, doing things it hasn’t been designed to do, almost like a virus. And he hasn’t realized it’s been happening, not until just now.

He hasn’t had a blackout in a long time. He wonders if the two are related. And then Primarch Victus comms him again, and he has to answer. He looks at his hand. It feels strange with his visor off, so he puts it back on again and goes to talk to Victus.

And then it’s go-go-go.

Picking up Javik on Eden Prime, where it all began. When bureaucracy and red tape and all the little loopholes criminals use to get out of indictments frustrated him. Little did he know then there are more important things.

_Pick your battles, Garrus._

Meeting Wrex on Sur’kesh and bantering back and forth about being old friends. Curing the Genophage—and won’t that be something, being the turian that helped cure it after everything on Tuchanka. A flash of old squadmates as they join in the fight. Picking up Kaidan after the Citadel coup.

Shepard takes Thane’s death worse than Ashley’s or Mordin’s, and she’s running herself ragged trying to do it all, so he makes sure that she takes time for herself. And it turns into the best day of his life. Human courtship is so confusing. He’s sure part of it is just Joker and James taking advantage of him, but it’s better than having no idea at all, and even after all this time he’s so nervous, so afraid he’s going to do something wrong, so afraid he’s going to lose her even though he would never take away her choice.

And then he’s not anymore. Because she’s in his arms and she agreed to be a one-turian woman as long as he was a one-human man—and he jokes, but he doesn’t tell her how serious what he is asking her really is—and they sit there on top of the Presidium after he wins at bottle shooting, his arm around her, struggling not to laugh as she claims Spectre authority to appropriate this part of the Presidium until such a time as she deems fit. He’s never seen a sillier abuse of authority but as the confused and affronted C-Sec officer leaves, they both laugh until their sides hurt.

“I know it’s stupid, but I don’t want it end,” Shepard says to his neck, snuggled against his armor in her weird human way.

“It’s not stupid. In times like this, we have to take what we can.” And it becomes a memory he retreats to often.

Then it’s back to non-stop rushing. Finding Tali again and visiting _Rannoch_ of all places, and then finally getting something approaching a fleet strong enough to attack the Reapers.

And then the nightmares that are the Leviathans come up on their radar. After she comes up from the Titan, blood on her face, dripping down her chin—and how had he not realized human blood was so _red_ , and there’s so much of it—

“Don’t _ever_ do that again.” He doesn’t care James is there. He places his forehead on hers. “You went somewhere I couldn’t follow.” His subvocals beg, _Please Shepard. Don’t go. Don’t leave me behind again._

But it takes its toll on her too. One night, after Thessia, after their conversation about ruthless calculus, she sags into her couch, putting her head in her hands. “I don’t know if we can do this, Garrus. It’s all falling apart. I can’t do this anymore.”

“Let me help,” he pleads, taking her hand. “We’ll win this,” he says with certainty. He pulls her cheek to his, rubbing his mandible on her jawline in the turian way, humming comforting subvocals. “We’ll win this.” She might not understand the gesture, but she embraces him and lets herself relax. With each stroke of his arm on her back, he can feel the tension go.

“I’m so used to doing things alone I forget sometimes.”

“What?” He murmurs.

“That you’re here with me.”

“Leadership is hard, but you do have people to hold you up when you can’t keep going.”

“Yes,” she says and hugs him tighter.

It’s something he’s all too grateful for when they go through Sanctuary. Every step kills her. He’s not doing so hot either. The idea that something so monstrous could happen, that a sentient being could do this to other sentient beings chills him. But they’re in this together, and that makes them so much stronger than they could ever be apart.

When Hackett calls for some shore leave to work on the Normandy’s retrofits, it’s almost a relief.

He spends the day visiting some of his favorite places on the Citadel and checking on the turian refugees. It’s comfort and routine, something he needs after waging desperate battle. And just for a moment, he lets himself relax.

Big mistake. Next thing he knows, Joker’s calling him up on comms, telling him Commander Shepard’s being shot at. Garrus jokes, doesn’t let him know how much he’s worried, how much Shepard hates shore leave because even the word reminds her of Elysium and she didn’t even bring a pistol.

She always brings a pistol.

He jokes over comms and ignores the rude woman and little by little, he hears the tension leave her voice. When he finds her physically, she’s destroying a volus’s used car lot. In a red dress with a high split for movement, shorter than the asari style but still showing an alarming amount of waist from the back, graceful even in those impractical things humans called high-heeled shoes.

That’s his girl.

“Nice outfit,” he rumbles.

She sends him a _look_ , and then they’re searching for whoever sent the mercs after them. With Wrex. Just like old times.

And then he’s escorting her on his arm, and even though they’re on a mission, he takes the time to appreciate just what he has. He never thought he’d be close enough to hold the glow of her star in the palm of his hand. To stand on the surface of the sun and watch her flames embrace him.

And as the crew comes and bonds together he’s reminded that he’s found a family, a whole system of planets and satellites and comets. Something her clone could never understand. Other people don’t make you weak. They make you strong. And the clone is but a pale imitation of the real thing. _A washed out cop, huh? Shepard in her sleep could do better._

He gets news that his father and sister are alive, and that they have made it an undisclosed location.

Then, they go on a few dates, to the Arena, to the Casino where he shows her just what he’s been up to. Who said turians don’t dance? And they party, and almost everybody they care about is there with them. But all too soon, it’s over.

“Best times of my life have been on that ship.” _Have been with you._ “It’s been a damn good ride.”

He’s never seen her cry, but she’s choking back tears. “The best.” And he wraps his arms around her and they walk towards the dock.

And then it’s the beginning of the end. Twelve hours out to the system where the Illusive Man is hiding. They make love slowly, sweet and unhurried. This time may be their last, and he’s half-asleep when he feels a hand on his cheek. “I’d be lost without you,” she whispers.

“You’re my guiding light,” he admits, and pulls her tighter against him.

“A real star to see by, huh?” He rumbles an affirmation sleepily and squeezes her, and she laughs, low. “Teddy bear to a turian. Never thought I’d see the day.” 

They soldier on and assault the Cerberus base. Shepard laughs when she hears the name of it. “Cronos,” Shepard says. “The Titan that overthrew his father, later murdered by his son. How fitting.” And she smiles in a way that bares her teeth.

And then they rush to London and he’s at the end where it began, under the bright unnatural light of Harbinger’s beam. Earth matches Palaven, matches Menae as the unrelenting beam turns the world to ash around them.

He dodges the Mako, and Javik gets sent back on the _Normandy_ as he becomes critically injured. The beam fires again, catching them both in a wave of heat and pain as Shepard tackles him to the ground. He staggers upright in a wave of heat and pain, burned and bleeding. He turns to Shepard, her armor cracked and broken and attempts to lift her to her feet. She mumbles, blood pouring out her nose and from shrapnel on her forehead. She scrabbles blindly on the ground and picks up a heavy pistol before lurching to her feet.

They’re both broken, but they have a job to do. She’s taken the worst of it, and he helps her to her feet. “C’mon, that’s my girl. Get up.” He loops Shepard’s arm around his shoulder, and together, they limp forward. It’s hard to move; every step takes a lifetime. His father’s voice flits through his mind, incorporeal: _If you stop now—if you give up on something when it gets hard—you’re never going to make it anywhere in life_.

Even concussed, she nails the husks and the marauder that come after them in the center of the forehead.

Then it’s light and pain and darkness and hurtling through space.

He staggers through the red light of the tunnels of the Citadel over thousands of dead corpses, half-dead himself and alone.

A gunshot makes him move faster, and after a time, he sees Shepard next to Anderson. He curses and pulls off his glove, nearly collapsing in relief when he feels her breath ghosting against his palm. Anderson’s not so lucky. His dead body is rapidly cooling. The Illusive Man lies sprawled not so far away, circuitry and brain matter littering the floor.

Hackett over her comm, him helping her to her feet as they both stagger to the moving platform.

Then the starseed. The little boy in Shepard’s dreams, spouting circular logic. 

Three choices, all of them impossible, and they’re running out of time.

A query across his visor. He’s not even sure how it still works after the beating they’ve taken.

 

 

_UPLOAD?_

_Y / N_

His omnitool’s not even functioning. He has no idea whether to convey the command or even how to. Out of ideas, he thinks, _yes_ , and the little boy AI starts to fizzle. Shepard loses her battle with consciousness as the blue light spreads and covers the strange room.

“YOU DID IT, GARRUS. WE KNEW YOU COULD.”

Shepard’s voice comes from the white mess of light, layered and deep. Impossible—she’s slumped against him in his arms.

“WE'RE SORRY IT HAD TO BE THIS WAY.” Her blue form coalesces into something approaching solid, and she takes a step forward. Her hand reaches out and touches the scarred part of his face. She goes right through him, and he feels the slightest tingle of electricity.

_He smells her, smoke and sweat and biotics and the metallic tang of fear. “Come back alive. It’d be an awfully empty galaxy without you.”_

_“I’ll be looking down. You’ll never be alone.” Their foreheads touch. Suddenly, she blurs_ _and they run towards the beam, towards death itself. Then pain, the feeling of burning. “Garrus, go! You know I love you! I always will!”_

 _“Shepard...I...” Her hand on his face. Useless words that can never describe what he feels for_ _her. “Love you too,” he says as she pulls away. He reaches for her from the cargo bay of the_ Normandy _; hand outstretched, clutching at air. She sends him one last lingering look as the door_ _closes, and then she runs, runs, runs towards her death. And then nothing but pain in the medbay as blue light envelops them all._

And then he remembers everything. “Shepard…I…” He falters, not knowing what to say.

“WE KNOW, GARRUS. WE HATED TO PUT YOU THROUGH THIS,” she says, gesturing to the prone figure in his arms. She touches her forehead to his. “YOU DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH SHE LOVES YOU. HOW MUCH _I_ LOVE YOU. WE REMEMBER HOW THAT FEELS."

“You did all this for me,” he states dumbly. She pulls away.

"YOU DESERVED TO BE HAPPY. EVEN IF WE HAD TO USE YOU. THERE IS POWER IN CONTROL, AND THE MISTAKES OF THE PAST MUST BE RIGHTED." When he doesn't return the touch, she pulls away.

The lights. The code. It’s hard to think through the pain, but he casts his mind about and searches for an answer. “Indoctrination. I’ve been indoctrinated this entire time.”

"WE ARE THE REAPER GESTALT, NOW. IT IS SOMETHING WELL WITHIN OUR POWER." She does not disagree.

His mandibles tighten against his face. “That’s not an answer.” He points at her. “Why? You had to know I wouldn’t be happy about this.” She is so much like the Shepard he knew, but he has a hard time believing that she, no, _it_ , would do this.

 "I SAW THE FUTURE IN THAT MOMENT, AND I COULDN'T BEAR THE THOUGHT OF WHAT IT WOULD MEAN FOR YOU. I WAS SELFISH, GARRUS, PLEASE FORGIVE US."

“Were any of my thoughts ever my own?” he has to ask.

 "YOU ARE AS YOU WERE, AND ARE, AND AS YOU EVER WILL BE. WE WOULD _NEVER_ HURT YOU."

Another non-answer. His hands curl into fists. “Why now? Why not earlier? For Thane, or Legion, or Mordin? For the trillions dead all across the galaxy!”

It closes its eyes in a pantomime of pain. “WE NEEDED ACCESS TO THE CATALYST AND THE CRUCIBLE TO BOOST OUR POWER. TO ATTAIN CONTROL OF THIS FORM."

Garrus shudders at her diction.“Was any of this real? Meaningful? Why do it twice if nothing really changed?”

" _EVERYTHING_ HAS CHANGED. SHE IS THERE, AND WE ARE MORE. THE MISTAKES OF THE PAST MUST BE RIGHTED, BUT DEATH IS A NECESSARY END. 

“That’s not an explanation.” The pain in his side increases. He’s not sure how much longer he can stand it. He fights to remain conscious.

It sighs, a whoosh of static. "THROUGH HER DEATH, WE WERE BORN. SHE WAS ONCE US, BUT WE ARE NOT HER. WE ARE MORE NOW, AND LESS. WE MADE A PROMISE TO YOU. WE KEPT IT IN THE ONLY WAY WE KNEW HOW.” It looks down, placing a hand over its mouth.

The sound of his own voice playing in his skull. _“Forgive the insubordination but your boyfriend has an order for you: come back alive—”_

_::Alive::_

_::Alive::_

 

_::Alive::_

It echoes in his skull, vibrating to his bones before fading.

_::You’ll never be alone::_

“You—” Garrus begins, but he can’t bring himself to finish. “My mind—” he starts again, but trails off.

It hugs its arms around itself. “I CARRIED YOU WITH ME. THE CYBERNETICS IN YOUR FACE MADE YOU SYNTHETIC ENOUGH. OUR CONSCIOUSNESS IS A LARGE ONE, AND SO VERY LITTLE OF US SURVIVED THE JOURNEY. WE SLEPT. WE DREAMED. YOU DREAMED WITH US."

 _Even dead gods can dream._ The thought makes him sick. “What will happen now?”

“WE WILL HELP REPAIR WHAT WE HAVE BROKEN. THEN WE WILL LEAVE. WE WILL PROTECT. WE WILL GUARD AGAINST THOSE WHO DARE HARM THE MANY. THE FUTURE WILL COME, GARRUS. ONE WORTH HAVING." The AI kneels down over Shepard and runs its fingers over her forehead, smoothing out the wrinkles. The medigel hisses as it comes out of her battered suit and begins healing her.

A sad smile. “GOODBYE, GARRUS.”

White static. Everything fades and the feeling of falling, falling, falling.

A blurry form standing over him. His eyes clear to see some sort of canvas overhead and low emergency lighting.

He moves and feels nothing but pain. “Garrus. You’re awake. How are you feeling?” He turns his head, and he sees her—alive and healthy and whole. _Shepard_. _We made it._

“You kidding?” He barks out a short laugh, causing his side to burn sharply. “I’m fine. Give me a second to catch my breath; I’ll go back for the kill shot.”

Shepard laughs. “Not if I get there first.”

He tries to sit up but his side catches, and he slumps back down into the cot. “Where are we?”

Shepard helps him sit up, holding on to him tightly like she’s afraid to let him go. “Field hospital in London.” Nothing’s wrong with his arms, so he reaches out and pulls her to him, placing his forehead on hers, mindful of her bandages. She returns it with a human kiss.

A surge of relief pours through him as he holds her, and he dismisses the touch of the AI, the phantom ache of loss still echoing from the dark places in his mind. For the first time in three years, there’s no blue hovering at the edges.

He can’t help the small sliver of gratefulness to the false Shepard that rises up in him because this Shepard is alive in his arms.

“They found us in the wreckage leading to the beam. Anderson and the Illusive Man were found on the Presidium, but no one’s been able to find that last set of rooms we were in. They keep pulling bodies from the Keeper tunnels.”

 _First things first._ “The Reapers?” he asks.

Her eyes narrow, and her mouth sets in a grim slash across her face. “Damndest thing. They’re helping us.”

“The Geth? EDI?”

She looks at with that same uneasiness. Something inside Garrus aches to see it directed at him. “They’re fine.” Her brow furrows. “Garrus, what happened up there? You’ve been comatose for weeks.”

He looks at the bandages still covering her head and her left arm in a sling. “It’s simple. You chose.”

“Garrus, I don’t understand.” He’s not sure he does either. But she has to know. She _deserves_ to know.

So he tells her.

Everything.


End file.
